


The "H" is Silent

by Mouse9



Series: Tales from Baker Street [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24851431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: [ Person A and Person B are texting when Person A write "Thrust Me" instead of "Trust Me" and before they can correct themselves, Person B replies "Sure."  Bonus if they aren't together yet]One extra letter bring about some interesting consequences.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Tales from Baker Street [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1474946
Comments: 10
Kudos: 154





	The "H" is Silent

Mycroft Holmes excelled at everything he did.

The first time was always correct. His mind was a precision machine designed to accurately take in, decipher and process information. He didn’t not make mistakes. Mistakes cost lives. 

So, of course the first time he erred, that his fingers moved quicker than his mind would be in a superfluous text message.

Mycroft stared in horror at the text message on his mobile screen mocking his error.

**[13:02] I know you have everything on a schedule but are you sure? This can’t blow up -GL**

**[13:30] Thrust me -MH**

_Oh God, how did one delete a text?_

Short of having the Detective Inspector’s mobile immediately confiscated, there was nothing short of properly resending the message.

Visions of his career imploding over an extra consonant filled him with horror as he watched the dots appear on his screen, letting him know that the man on the other end had read his misstep and was responding.

As he frantically typed in the correct message and pressed send, the reply appeared on his screen.

**[13:03] I mean, it’s a little sudden especially in the middle of a workday, but what the hell. Sure. GL**

His mortification complete, he could only expand his reply.

**[13:03] Trust me MH**

**[13:03] My apologies Lestrade, that was accidental. MH**

He intently stared at the phone as the message sent, but it was neither read not was there a reply given. Uneasy, Mycroft set aside his mobile and returned his focus back to the project at hand, vowing to forget this moment happened.

* * *

A reply finally came that evening as Mycroft was leaving the Diogenes Club for home. 

**[19:30] I should know better by now than to doubt you. Everything wrapped up nicely. GL**

**[19:30] Cheers for the assist GL**

**[19:30] So, does this mean no thrusting? GL**

Red rose in both Mycroft’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. He could feel the heat of embarrassment as he reread that last message. Was there no end to this mortification?

Determined to stop this before it became a problem, Mycroft prepared to send a stern reply.

**[19:32] Congratulations on the success of your operation. MH**

Not quite the stern reply he was formulating. Mycroft couldn’t bring himself to strongly rebuke the Detective Inspector. They were friends, the closest thing Mycroft would consider a friend. He could trust Lestrade to not make an issue of an extra letter, even if it meant a bit of private ribbing between them both. After, all, that’s what friends did, right? It was a penance he was willing to accept.

**[19:32] Alas Detective Inspector, none at all. MH**

A reply came almost immediately, tilting Mycroft’s world on his axis.

**[19:33] Shame. GL**

Mycroft went into action before he could even being to comprehend the meaning behind that one solitary word. A new message screen was opened, and he was sending a fresh text.

**[19:34] I need the location of DI Lestrade. MH**

His P.A., long used to the unusual qualities her position demanded, never questioned, she just did.

A minute later, he received a reply.

**[1935] DI Lestrade is currently at Scotland Yard. Do you need a team?**

**[19:35] No. I will handle it. MH**

“Carlisle, change of plans. Take me to Scotland Yard.”

* * *

The open-air office was empty when Mycroft stepped in the Major Crimes division. The overhead lights were off and only the emergency lights the few desk lamps still on dimly illuminated the area, casting him in shadows while giving him a path to take. At the end of the room, one office was still lit, the door partially open, the light within beckoning.

Mycroft’s shoes made no sound as he traversed the room, making his way towards that office. As he approached, the door suddenly swung open and Lestrade stepped into view, his arm outstretched in the act of shutting off the lights.

“Mycroft, hey,” He sounded surprised. He immediately stepped back into his office, opening the door further to allow Mycroft entrance. “Come in, didn’t expect you. I was just finishing up the reports.

Mycroft followed him in, intent on discussing the text. Why was one simple work able to fill him with such hope and dread simultaneously?

He pushed the door closed behind him as Lestrade tossed his jacket onto the visitor chair.

“So. Thanks again for the assist. What was it you wanted clarification on? I’m assuming that’s why you’re here at ten past nine.”

Mycroft meant to sit and have a conversation about the text messages. To discover just what _shame_ meant. Was it a lark, part of the joke that had apparently developed between them? Did it mean more or was it merely a mindless word tossed out?

As Lestrade turned to face Mycroft, the question barely finished, Mycroft took the two steps towards him, body on autopilot, unconscious. His hands cupped scruffed cheeks, seeing brown eyes grow wide, a mere blink before lips crashed into lips.

His mind was in turmoil, rapidly gathering information whilst desperately attempting to halt all current actions.

Lestrade was stiff in his arms, parted lips frozen under Mycroft’s questioning ones.

Was this a mistake? Worry and terror made his blood grow cold. Had he started a harassment that had just blossomed into assault?

A low throaty moan- _was that him?_ \- filled his hears and suddenly he was being kissed in return.

Those once still lips opened further, responding enthusiastically. Strong hands slid under Mycroft’s suit jacket, around the waistcoat, pulling him closer. 

He didn’t remember taking the two steps back, but the door was suddenly at his back and Lestrade was pressed against his front. 

Mouths separated and Mycroft gasped for breath, more than a little bewildered about how he’d lost the advantage. 

“I’m gonna guess this is about our texts.” Lestrade said, chest expanding with heavy breaths and _oh_ , it was wonderful.

“I…didn’t know if you were teasing or if it was real or- “

“I don’t tease like that to anyone.” A flash of teeth. “Could you image if I messaged Donovan like that? Or Anderson?”

Mycroft shuddered at the thought and watching in curiosity as Lestrade’s eyes darkened. 

“I worried for a moment that I overstepped,” Lestrade continued. “I see I didn’t.”

Mycroft cleared his throat, tried to take back control.

“Lestrade, I- “

“Greg. You just walked into my office and snogged me near senseless, I think you can call me Greg.”

Mycroft was at a loss. The precision machine had paused, awaiting further instructions. 

“Gregory. Greg- “

“Either or. They both sound good when you say it.”

“-I truly did not mean to write what I did. Even if it has led to this delightful turn of events,” Lestrade’s-Greg’s- body was still deliciously pressed against his making word formation difficult. “I truly did not mean to misspell- “

“I saw your message. The second one,” Greg interrupted. Was this man ever going to let him finish a sentence? “Everyone makes spelling errors whilst texting- “

“Not me.” Mycroft insisted, feeling a little smug that he was finally able to interrupt. Greg paused, lips parted, and kiss swollen, and it took a good amount of self-control to not lean in and capture those lips again. They turned up in a grin and Mycroft’s mouth went dry.

“Maybe it was unconscious?”

“Pardon?”

“The text,” Greg continued. “You responded to a text from me, your unconscious saying what your really wanted to. Things happen for a reason Mycroft.”

Mycroft, who could mentally follow a hundred little threads to a foregone conclusion, who collected scenarios to predict changed in the world, was suddenly aware that the Detective Inspector was correct. There were reasons for unconscious movement.

As if seeing the light of understanding in his eyes, Greg’s grin widened into a smile.

“So,” he asked. “What now?”

Eyes focused, mind clear and now running once more; slowly, deliberately, Mycroft rolled his hips, pushing firmly against Greg, watching as the man sucked in a breath.

“Dinner.” He responded. The path was now clear.

“Dinner,” Greg repeated. “You sure?”

Mischievousness crept into Mycroft’s tone as he answered, seeing the chain of events tumble into his mind’s eye; dinner, drinks, conversation, an exquisite evening wrapped up in sheets…

“Thrust me.”

Greg’s bark of laughter made him smile.

“I’m hoping so Mycroft.”

Needing no further encouragement, Mycroft grasped Greg’s shirt and pulled him in for another kiss.

Yes, they would both get what was so desperately wanted, because even unconsciously,

Mycroft Holmes excelled at everything he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Between months of school work and the pandemic, the first day back to work I found two small pages for the beginning of this story half written out. Six hours later, the story was finished. I'm so glad this is what broke my writers block.


End file.
